Lost in the Woods

Relatively early on this journey through life, I found myself in a darkened wood uncertain of my path, and thus was really fucking lost. The following is a visual and written account of the journey. Unfortunately, I am neither artist nor poet. Tersa rima this is not, and it makes my little parody a far cry from Dante Aligheri's 'The Divine Comedy'. The images are by Gustave Dore and the explanations will all be in English in tersa blog, if you will. Should you be inclined to read the traditional version, go with Sinclair's. That whore Mendelbaum can take his "I felt then a fiery urging" and blow it out his ass. Moving on with our little story, I was lost in the woods of life.

Faulkner is Contacted

As I wandered in the woods a man suddenly appeared before me. He had an old face with gray hair and a moustache that made him seem somewhat familiar. I could smell whiskey coming off him. "Pray child, do you not recognize me? It is I, William Faulkner!" he boomed out. In response, I began to back up and get ready to run. He sighed and pulled a flask out of his robe. "I'm not crazy and I'm not here to kill you. I've been sent by Heaven to take you on a tour of the afterlife. We're going to start out in Hell and then see how long you keep up an interest in writing this thing," the strange man declared. I blinked, thought about it, then kept backing up. "Wait, that sounds really weird, doesn't it?" Faulkner said. "Hey, if I was insane would I know that when you were twelve you once played hide and go seek with your neighbor, but then went to your house and played Doom instead of hiding?" I could not deny the truth of the story. I headed back into the clearing where William Faulkner stood. He motioned me along and said that he would explain more once we got to Hell. At least I was no longer lost.

Entrance to Hell

We walked through the woods for what seemed like hours and then suddenly came upon a rocky barren ledge. Considering I had originally been in Tennessee, the sudden appearance of a giant mountain range with no trees was pretty impressive. "So this is the real deal, right? I'm about to see what happens to people when they die?" I asked Faulkner. He shrugged and took another swig of his whiskey. "The afterlife is a philosophical concept. It's different for everyone. There are three distinct sections of any person's moral view of the world: unforgivable, forgivable over time, and good. Those get translated into Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven in a person's mind." We kept walking down the trail in silence as I tried to figure out how that would work. "Wait, so this isn't what happens to everyone when they die, just me?" Faulkner coughed and began to laugh. "Yeah kid, we invented a whole place just for fucking you. Ok, think about this. Time is relative to where you are right now, ok? To a person whose sitting in an office reading this stupid website, time is moving incredibly slowly. To someone whose having a great day, time is going by quickly. Joy accelerates time, etc. etc. The same applies to your concept of morality and the world. The more good things that happen to you, the more your morality views things in a positive manner." I was getting nervous because I was pissing off William Faulkner, pillar of all Southern Literature, so I kept quiet. I still didn't understand the point he was making and he seemed to be getting exasperated. "Just fucking think of it like we're all unique snow flakes in terms of how we see the world, but we're all the same pile of shit in terms of our literal differences, so that means that yes there is a Hell, but it's defined by your own perspective. Look, just go inside the stupid cave. Oh, and drink the whiskey." We approached the gates, and stepped through.

Minos' Judgment

Faulkner first took me to the place where people's sins are judged and assigned their place in Hell accordingly. These winged demons dragged a guy forward and was told to confess all that he had done. For three hours he rattled off everything that popped into his head. And some of this was some seriously awful shit. Like stealing from his grandmother, cheating on his wife, telling his daughter she looked fat. It was kinda funny to think that someone might expect brownie points for being honest after being damned to Hell. The guy went on and on until Minos finally just interrupted him. Minos boomed, "Well that's great Bob. But the fact is that you're not here for any of those things. In 1987 you began working for MPowerConcepts, a pyramid scheme that seduces college graduates into thinking they've made it big with an advertising corporation. In fact, they have to go door to door to sell hand towels and body lotions. It looks pathetic on a resume and often ends up sinking them into debt. You ruined hundreds of lives. Do you know what most people did after they quit working for you? No? Well it wasn't fucking advertising. Thanks for being so honest eariler. Bert, please escort him to the lake of shit." I turned to Faulkner and asked how they could possibly spend so much time on each individual case, since the line was stunningly long. Did they all have to wait for the other to talk? Faulkner nodded and smiled, and we headed onward.

Limbo

The next stop was Limbo, where all genuinely talented artists and contributors to society go. It was a beautiful garden that was just a brief walk from the place of judgement. Faulkner explained to me that most of these people end up doing some really awful stuff in life but are forgiven for it because of their dedication to their work. I met Homer, Shakespeare, the guy who wrote the Batman series, and all sorts of other important people. There were a lot of saytrs running around drunk. The writers were all standing around getting wasted, so I decided to try and hang out. Within seconds, Flannery O'Connor asked me if I wanted to do gin shots with her. It was the best tasting gin I'd ever had and I asked her if it was made of divine energy. "Naw, we have a demon whose down on the lower sub-circles. He harvests all the tears of people who judge those who drink alcohol while not examining their own problems and then brings that up here. We mix it with the gin and so that it tastes fucking incredible. Virgil keeps a stash of wine made from the blood of parents who spoil their children that's awesome too." We couldn't stay for long though since Faulkner was just stopping to fill his flask. All of the writer's patted me on the back and wished me luck as we left Limbo. While crossing out of the wooded garden and back onto the rocky plains of Hell, I heard someone cry out, "Hemingway and Clemens are fighting again!" I was sad to go.

Unfulfilled Potential

The first stop was people who didn't want to work hard and fulfill their potential. They were now cursed to work forever, rolling a boulder up a hill only to have it roll back down at the summit. Faulkner personally spat on every single one of them. "You know how long it took for anyone to recognize my fucking work? Decades. I had to write corny screenplays to make a living," Faulkner screamed at one damned soul. I saw George Lucas, the Wachowski Brothers, Britney Spears, and a bunch of teen actors whose names no one remebers. I asked Britney what she would have done differently and she snarled at me. "I'm fucking proud of who I am and I worked really hard on those albums. So what if I didn't write the music or words? I practiced dancing for HOURS to get those concerts ready. And then I showed everyone in the world the beauty of pregnancy by having mine be completely public." I wanted to ask her why her lyrics were so awful if someone else had written them, why she had decided to become the nation's leading method of birth control (if you get pregnant you'll end up like Britney), but Faulkner seemed so disgusted that it was time to go. I took a nip from his flask and prayed that I never ended up like that.

Creators of False Cults

The next stop was the creators of cults and falsifiers of Christianity. There were rows of people who were locked in tombs filled with fire and brimstone. A few contained people who had only read four pages of the Bible but pretended to be well-informed, the Kool-Aid cult that believed aliens were going to save them with suicide, and lots of Scientologists. I found the minister who used to rant at the Church down the street from me about the evils of homosexuality and popped open the lid. I asked him how he felt about burning in Hell. "It's all a conspiracy by blacks, homosexuals, and liberals. They tricked me into being in Hell. It clearly states that God hates queers in the Bible, and by God I'm sticking to that. I have no idea why I've been sent here, but I'm doing my best to continue saving our youth from fags and sinners right here in this box." Faulkner spat on him and we knocked the lid back onto the box so that it smashed him on the head. Tom Cruise, Tammy Faye Baker, and my old gym coach were also there. L. Ron Hubbard, whose box was full of flaming money that he had made from brainwashing all of his servants, at least did not seem particularly shocked that he was in Hell. "What the fuck is everyone's deal anyways? Why doesn't anyone understand why they are burning in Hell?" I asked Faulkner. He turned and said, "That's the whole point, Kirk. None of these people think they've done anything wrong. They chose to be burning in Hell."

Explosive Tempers

The next stop was a gruesome site. People writhed on the ground with various holes in their chests and appendages. Every now and then someone would walk by and wave at us, only to have an explosion burst from their chest and they would fall over screaming in pain. This was where loud and obnoxious people in social situations ended up. I saw a lot of coke heads here and all the political junkies who had ruined perfectly good nights of drinking. Michael Moore was particularly gross, writhing in a big puddle of blood and fat as his stomach kept exploding. I asked him what his thoughts were and he said, "The Bush administration's tyranny will not be accepted by anyone. I'll burn in Hell and be a martyr if it means that people can see the evils of their corruption. Are you a Republican?" I shook my head, telling him I was a moderate. "Fence-sitter" he snarled. I laughed and said, "You're the one burning in Hell for being a political extremist. It never occured to you that just maybe, maybe 51% of the country has a semi-logical reason for voting for Bush? At the very least you have to admit you only speak for half the country." Apparently, he did not. Most of the FOX news network team was here as well, still yelling over people who disagreed with them. One of them started arguing with Faulkner about the meaning of 'Absalom, Absalom' and Faulkner tore off his arm and started hitting him with it. It was time to go.

Video Game Addicts

We then left craggy valley of the Explosive Tempers and moved onwards into the plains of the pathetic. The first crowd was the abusers of the online world. Afraid of real people and themselves, they hid behind their addiction of online interaction to meet others like them. Online RPGs, chat rooms, and X-Box Live addicts were all here. Stripped of their shielding, they were now forced to lie naked and talk to each other face to face. There was little going on. I turned to Faulkner and said, "You know, in Middle School I had a lot of trouble finding people I could relate to. I kinda understand why someone would just want to shut that world out." Faulkner blinked and then punched me in the arm. "That was for fucking relating to people in Hell. These people are scum Kirk. They think that sitting around in their rooms all day playing video games is some kind of justifiable way to live." I nodded and then asked, "But what about cool people who play video games? Tons of people do this sin. Do they all have to go here?" Faulkner shook his head and said, "No one is rolling around buck naked here because they played video games too much. They are here because they preferred the fantasy to the reality, never got girlfriends, never made friends with anyone besides their chatroom fantasies, and most importantly of all, never did ANYTHING besides video games. Shit, my hobbies in life were drinking and picking fights. But I knew my writing was more important. That's why I'm in Limbo and not in the Bottomless Pit of Wannabe Writers" We picked our way among the wayward souls, fingers twitching in mouse-clicking spasms and mouthing nonsensical internet lingo.

Forest of Environmentalists

After walking in the plains for some time, we came upon a forest that had no leaves or grass, only strange gnarled trees. Faulkner took me inside but was careful to stay off the trail. I immediately noticed that all of the trees in the forest looked like people. When I asked what was going on Faulkner explained, "These are people who loved nature more than other human beings. Basically, they become trees. Totally immobile and subject to all the hardships that they bemoaned happened to their woodland friends in the living world." I nodded and thought it was kinda weird, since it almost seemed like people were getting what they wanted. Then two guys who were totally naked ran by screaming, grabbing branches and ripping them off trees to clear the way as they ran. "Those are people who were totally apathetic to nature in life. They wanted nothing to do with the forest, and were often involved with companies that destroyed the natural environment. The idea is that since the tree-huggers and tree-cutters fought so much in the living world, they ought to stick together and continue their struggle, except literally." I couldn't follow how this came out bed for nature-haters who got to continute their persecution, until a pack of mountain lions appeared and began chasing the naked guys. These things were about twice the size of how National Geographic makes them look and their eyes were glowing red. As I looked around the woods, I realized there were hundreds of people being chased by mountain lions. Meanwhile, all the trees were screaming because their branches were getting torn up. "Oh yeah, watch out for the mountain lions. Whenever one of the tree people tries to make friends with one of them, it pees battery acid onto its roots. Fucking hurts for decades I hear." We continued on our way through the woods and back out to the plains.

Snake Pit

We began to approach the edge of the plains and I saw that the entire land mass suddenly dropped off. All along the sides were thousands of snakes squirming and struggling with lots of screaming people who were aimlessly running around. I saw a few people I recognized from college: girls with really big boobs and guys who were really thin but had small dicks. "These are people who live in denial of their sexuality and judge others who express it freely," Faulkner said. We all know who these people are. Scared people who think guys only like them because their boobs are big, guys who are afraid they are unattractive. They abstain from being anything but friends with the opposite sex and are always disgusted by other people's sexual experiences. "I remember when I was younger I used to think really lowly of people in highschool who only cared about sleeping with girls," I commented. "Then I lost my virginity and wished I could've taken it all back." Faulkner and I paused as a snake began attacking a guy's privates and then did some equally unspeakable things to a girl. "One time I had to take this Japanese painter who'd gotten lost in life through the tour. He fucking loved this stuff. I dunno, it's just sorta creepy to me," Faulkner explained. We both were glad to leave that strange place.

Irrational Anger

As we walk through the pit of snakes, I saw two men fighting on the ledge below. All around were other people fighting, beating each other mercilessly just below the people fending off phallic symbols. "This is where assholes who can't get over the trauma of their lives. They got bullied around in highschool a lot, grew up, and lead normal lives. But the entire time they were alive their one motivation in life was to prove to the quarterback of the football team that they are better. They always attend highschool reunions with their attractive wives and rub in how successful their stem cell business is compared to Dan's Lawn Care. Basically, they literally follow the orginal asshole from highschool into Hell because they don't care about anything except how much they hate them." I asked why they were next to the snake pit of repressed sexuality. "What? You don't think there are some serious gay overtones to that kind of hatred?" I looked around at the pairs of girls fighting girls more attractive than them, the men beating each other in the face, and the ones farther off who were boxing with their parents. I thought about all the people who had been bullied in highschool and wondered if they would end up here too. Faulkner lead me over to the cliffside and we began to descend down a long staircase cut into the rock.

Lake of Extremists

As we descended the staircase it wove in and out of the cliffside, eventually taking us inside a large crevace. Inside was a lake of fire where we paused and Faulkner swigged some whiskey. He kicked a rock into the fiery lake. Just barely, I could make out people down below in the flames. They appeared to be arguing. "You have to figure there's a place in Hell for conversation toppers. You know, like you'll be telling a funny joke, then they say "No, I've got an even funnier one". Then they tell a completely dumb story that makes no sense and just annoys everyone," Faulkner complained bitterly. I shook my head and sighed. "Why the lake of fire?" I asked. "Well, originally we had this whole thing up on the plains where they crawled around on each other trying to get to the top of this arbitrary hill, except then it just sinks into the ground and a new one forms and they all run over to that one. Except none of them were into it. They all wanted 'THE WORST SHIT POSSIBLE MAN'. Minos thought this was pretty funny, since the worst punishment possible would make these guys cry like little girls. So we just acted like this lake of fire was the worst and dumped them all into it. Now they get to all sit around and argue about whose better. Fucking extremists." We proceeded down the staircase and out of the crevace. We clambered farther and farther down the ledge until finally a horrible odor began to reach my nose. It smelled like shit. Literally. I began to grow worried about our next stop on this tour.

Lake of Bullshit

When we finally reached the base of the cliff I saw a sight I had truly never wanted to see. It was a giant lake of shit. Faulkner explained on the way down that we were now entering the primary watery nexus or simply the four lakes. The first lake was the one we had just passed by, which was fed by a river of oil that was also filled with sinners. That oil went out into the other lakes to keep thinks liquidy. The three remaining lakes were made from the shit of a bull, the shit of a pig, and the third was dirt and shit mixed together. We were currently standing next to the lake of bullshit and you can pretty much guess what the people swimming in it were there for. Along the shore line were crowds of people wandering around aimlessly and Faulkner motioned for us to make our descent towards them. I studied the people in the lake of bull crap as walked alongside and noticed a lot of politicians in there. Bush cabinet officials like Karl Rove and John Ashcroft were doing backstrokes in feces. They almost looked peaceful until one of the Kennedy's would swim by and drag them under. "How many people are underneath the surface, in relation to people up here?" I asked. "Well, you have to keep in mind that most of the politicians you see are on the surface because even though they spouted out tons of bullshit, they never fully believed it. The people at the bottom of the lake? The ones who never see the surface? Those are people who actually believe their own bullshit. A lot of actors and musicians end up down there. Rappers and all that kinda stuff. Um, lets see...most of the cast of Friends, a couple of reporters from E. I don't know, no one worth remembering," Faulkner said. I nodded and we proceeded down towards shoreline where the river of oil met the three lakes of shit.

River of Oil

As we neared the river of oil I immediately noticed that it was quite shallow. There were lots of people lying around on the edges lamenting their beloved collection of cars or gloating over how rising gas prices didn't affect them. "So, c'mon, please, you gotta tell me, George Bush, he's in here right? A river of oil? It's too perfect." Faulkner looked at me like he had no idea what I was talking about. "Bush is in Purgatory right now, where he is going to be for a long time for all the trouble his sons caused. However, he will eventually get to Heaven. As for the other President Bush...he's down a bit deeper in Hell. This place is for people who bought wasteful cars and other pieces of extreme excess with no concern for the damage to the environment or people's lungs. The sin is not owning the car, it's owning it for no reason beyond yourself." Here were the people whom I had seen driving in Hummers alone and with nothing in the back. All the times a person had driven a gas guzzling car just because it was a status symbol. They writhed in the oil they had so casually burned like it was some kind of blanket that could protect them. Unforunately, they were still in Hell. We continued on and crossed the river of oil and stood by the shore of the lake of bullshit. I was about to ask who all the people wandering around were, when Faulkner pointed out to the lake.

Kayaker of Hell

Paddling across Lake Bullshit, knocking heads of sinners with his paddle, was an insane old man in a canoe. He stood on the tip and rocked the boat with almost no concern for falling into the lake. He looked insane even from where we stood. Faulkner began laughing as the kayaker got closer and started smacking academic literary professors who were talking about his books. Still. When I asked Faulkner who he was, he just shooked his head. "No one knows. He's apparently supposed to be in Limbo but since he got there for being the best outdoorsman ever, they gave him the job of punishing the sinners who walk around the shoreline." I wondered what kind of stuff someone has to do in order to be exempt from Hell for Physical achievement. I asked Faulkner for his flask and deduced the situation to my best. "So he's like some kayaker who gave up friends or responsibility to ride the ultimate rapid? And then he did it again and again?" Faulkner nodded and said, "Yeah, basically. Virgil said that a few centuries ago it used to be some other guy but that he got sick of the shit smell and moved down to one of the lower levels. All the Limbo people get put to work doing weird stuff in the afterlife. Too fucking crazy for Hell, too mean for Heaven." We both waited for the kayaker to arrive on the shoreline.

Dwellers on the Past

"So who the fuck are all these assholes walking around the shore?" I asked. Faulkner kicked a rock at one of them and laughed when they scurried away. "These are people who think about the past all the time and never move on. You know, like fuckers in college who stay for their eighth year of school. Who gripe when you modernize a building because the old one had so much character." I nodded and walked up to one of them and asked him to talk about who he was. "I used to be a reviewer for Rolling Stones Magazine. Except I quit because they sold out, not like back when we were this awesome free thinking magazine that was just about music. And all the bands today suck. I don't listen to anything past '79. No fucking way. It's too bad I'm in Hell but it's not my fault people in Heaven have shitty taste. ROCK!" The reviewer went over to see what the nameless kayaker was doing and was promptly smacked in the face with an oar. Faulkner walked over to the kayaker and they talked for a minute before the boat set off. "He'll be back in a couple of hours, then he's going to take us over to the other two lakes and then the Charybdis. Just so you can get a feel for the Four Lakes of Hell and all that." We sat down and continued throwing rocks at the people stuck in the past. They immediately pointed out how much better it was before we were there throwing rocks at them.

Bullshitters Attack Us

As we sat on the shoreline throwing rocks, eventually those who forever glorify the past began to move towards the other end of the shore in order to avoid us. Faulkner kept swigging from his flask out of boredom. Or maybe to cover up the shit smell. Actually, Faulkner just drank whiskey all the time. He passed it over and we stared out over the lake of bullshit. I noticed a few more people swimming in it: Dr. Phil from Oprah and Ann Coulter were both dog paddling nearby. I waved Ann Coulter over, since I'd always thought she was hot in the living world, and asked her what was on her mind. "The liberal media has waged a propaganda campaign that has put me in this place. I'm not apologizing to their absurd whining. I was very tolerant of them and their beliefs and this is how they reward me." I nodded and thought better of explaining that maybe calling F.D.R. a dummy just because he was a Democrat might be emblematic of why she was in a giant lake of cow feces. Still, Ann Coulter is a babe and I offered her a swig off the flask. As I was reaching out, Faulkner snatched my hand and dragged me back. "Don't offer these animals anything! Damnit, haven't you been listening to me? They believe they are right and that it's all someone else's fault that they are in Hell. They could start stampeding and then we'll have to sit through a mass-bullshitting." But it was too late. Coulter let out an unearthly groan and then screamed, "STILL ALIIIVVVEEEE!!!!" In seconds the shit began foaming and frothing and the bullshitters were crawling out onto the edges of the shoreline. I got up and made to run, but Faulkner held my arm. "They won't do any physical damage. And I'm not missing the kayaker and waiting around this God awful stench any longer than I have to. Now we have to sit through a mass-bullshitting, thanks to you." And so it began. By its essential nature, bullshit is a distortion of the truth for personal gain. Except people in Hell have nothing to gain nor do they have any access to real truth. So, some of the people would simply argue for my attention, some of them were trying to get me to jump into the lake, and others wanted my stuff so they could throw it away. These assholes were good too. I ended up giving my watch to some Sumerian, who laughed and threw it into the shit. Faulkner turned to me and said, "I fucking hate you so much," as a professor of English badgered him for a signature on a soggy turd.

Departure

After what seemed like intolerable hours of mindless bullshit, the nameless kayaker finally appeared. He took his oar and began swatting at the bullshitters, sending them flying back into the lake. With an almost sarcastic bow he allowed us into the boat. "Looks you stirred em up!" he said and started laughing wildly. It wasn't particularly funny, but I guess if you're sent to Limbo for kayaking too much you're not really known for your social skills. Faulkner had a few final words with someone who had been asking him why 'Barn Burning' didn't sync up with 'The Hamlet', and then we were off. I was almost alarmed both at the thousands of bullshitters squirming underneath us and the speed that the kayaker could propel the canoe. "Why are we going so far out from the shoreline?" I asked. "Well, the Charybdis will suck in anyone whose in the immediate channel. You have to catch the outer rip tide and ride that along the edges of the lakes. I'm gonna take you through Pig shit and then Shit Mixed with Dirt, then ride the oil channel back into the Charybdis and drop y'all off at the lower level," the nameless kayaker responded. I turned to Faulkner and mouthed the phrase, "Charybdis?" He shrugged and spat over the side of the canoe at a bullshitter. "It's a whirlpool Kirk. Like in the Odyssey. Inside of it are all the Charybdi, people who suck away at human souls, and then it turns into a giant waterfall that feeds the lower flood plains. I think there is a map back in Limbo, but I never bring it. It's sorta hard to talk a person into riding around a giant lake of crap when they know it's coming." We paddled onward and came upon the lake of pig shit.

Lake of Pig Shit

As we crossed into the lake of pig shit, I asked Faulkner what the point of having a different type of animal feces was. "Well, these are all people who eat shit, rather than the ones who spew shit out. Y'know, like a pig rolls around in its' own filth and eats shit all day, so too do these people. Just listen and you'll understand." We passed into the lake and I began to hear the moans of shit eaters. "Oh, but you're so thin! I could never be as thin as you are. I'm all fat, don't you think?", to which a voice replied "Me thin?! Good Lord no, you're the thin one dear." I realized that these were the whiners, the people who wanted you to feel sorry for them all the time, that literally fed on it. As I looked around I could hear the cries for pity all around and some of the people began grabbing onto the boat. Whenever one got too close, the nameless kayaker would smack them with the oar and then they would whine about that too. Now that we were a fair distance from the shoreline, I realized that it was in fact not so much a mountain as a giant pillar. "Wait, so that cliff we walked down is holding up that whole desert we walked across to get to this point? What's underneath the plateau? The Charybdis?" I asked. Faulkner nodded and replied, "Basically, there are four pillars that hold up the sins that are socially acceptable. Each pillar corresponds to a lake, since the people swimming in this stuff are ones that are borderline socially acceptable but abuse one of the four foundations of human conduct. The four foundations or pillars are: Courtesy, for the Pig Shit people who overdo humility to gain pity. Interest, for the Lake of Fire since they are all really interested but only because they want to tell their own cool story. Discussion, for the Bullshitters who subvert conversation into their own gains. And finally Withheld information, for the lake of Shit mixed with Dirt. The last one is a part of social interaction because you shouldn't go blabbing every awkward thing to a person. In fact, most of the time, if you think something is going to make people feel uncomfortable then go ahead and just not say it. These four pillars make-up the foundation of social conduct and this whole desert and lake region constitutes socially acceptable sins. They're all in Hell because they took it too far, but still, it would be possible to be in the same room with one of these people in the living world." I nodded, and we passed into the Lake of Shit mixed with Dirt.

Lake of Shit Mixed with Dirt

The lake of Dirt & Shit was equally interesting as we passed through it and onto the current generated by the River of Oil. "This is where people who mix truth with lies go. Y'know, like telling someone that they should buy hurricane insurance because you never know, but not mentioning that your policy does not include flooding or impact damage, which are the two things hurricane's do. That kind of shit." We plodded on and I listend as people told bizarrely appealing lies. TONS of Creationists were down here, arguing that gravity isn't real, that you can't prove evolution occured and that we should all just believe in magic. We coursed through the oil channel and then on into Charybdis. In here was a swirling whirpool of shit, fire, and dirt. People screamed as they were dragged around endlessly. I saw girls from highschool and college that I knew, ones who'd taken advantage of people's good nature in order to always have attention and fall-back guys. A few were a bit close to home. "These are the people who manipulate others to feel better about themselves. Social vampires, mind-slayers, Succubi. They have a lot of nicknames. You know when one of your friends starts dating a girl, then suddenly he disappears and he has no time for you? This is where their girlfriends go. Or when a guy leads a girl on forever, always telling her that he doesn't think they are going to work out then having some deep meaningful chat and hooking up. They're in here too. They literally suck at all of social interaction as we know it for their own benefit. Ergo, they are at the center of the Four Pillars." Faulkner and I both looked sad as the nameless kayaker controlled us down into the whirlpool, perhaps knowing one too many people who had gotten the better of us when we were younger. Taking a few rocks stored in my robe, I pegged a few girls that called my name out. It felt pretty good. We then descended down into the realm of the socially unacceptable sins.

Geryon Arrives

As the canoe swirled onward and onward, I began to grow sleepy. I didn't hear the nameless kayaker warn me to get ready to jump, nor did I notice him jam the oar into the water and launch both Faulkner and I out of the boat into the center of the whirlpool. The wails of the Charybdi were the last thing I heard before darkness. I landed on the ground with a resounding clunk. The flowing whirlpool of shit had become a waterfall and cascaded down an enormous cliff that was miles long. Far out, as far as the eye could see, was a massive flood plain that was created by the waterfall. Rocky craigs and small islands made up the landscape, surrounded by pools and eddies of flowing crap. Little sinners ran around screaming, all being punished in different manners in the Giant Floodplain of the Unacceptable. From the ledge we were on, I had no idea how we were going to get down. "Well, wasn't that fun. We're on the border into the next level of Hell, the Bi-Mecca." Faulkner said as he brushed off his robes and straightened his laurel crown. "In order to get down there we have to get a ride from this flying monster called Geryon. The thing is he lies constantly and in order for him to help us we have to lie to him as well. It is by deceit that we begin our journey through the sins of the social outcast." Faulkner cleared his voice and called out over the cliffside, "I really think my books are stupid and have no contribution to society whatsoever!" After a brief wait, a giant serpent-like being with the head of a man flew by and landed in front of us. "Hi, my name is Buttercup and this is Tadberry. We'd like to sit on this cliff for the rest of our lives until we rot and die," Faulkner explained. The beast nodded, spoke a few weird words, and then bowed down. We climbed onto its back and began our descent. "Now remember, the whole time we're on this thing we can't not say a truth. Ok? Got it?" I gave my most confident grin and tried to figure out what the double-negative implied.

Geryon in Flight

We flew far out into the floodplains, with Faulkner pointing to various punishments. "Those are the factories where people who buy foreign goods go. Oops, I mean don't go. And over there is where people who follow any social trend in order to to look cool don't go. They all have to sit in a giant ball machine and get rolled around into various slots. Like one of those ball maze games, rolling into whatever is cool at that moment." We flew on until Geryon finally touched us down in front of a series of boiling pools of water. We told Geryon he was an asshole for taking us to the place we didn't want to go and asked him to have a nice day.

Obsessive Conversationalists

As we settled down and I got my bearings, I immediately noticed that the swampy shit that we had been flying over smelled distinctly worse in this region. That was because it was boiling here and sure enough inside the pool of shit below us were hundreds of squirming souls. Most of them tried to stay underneath the surface, but every now and then one of them would burst up and scream something. "VOTE NADER," one said. He was immediately hit in the head with a giant spear, so that he sunk back into the pool screaming. The person who threw the spear was a centaur, a man with a horses body, and there were several of them walking around the perimeter of the pool armed with all sorts of weapons. "Now this one is really awesome," Faulkner said. "This is the pool where people who obsessively talk about one thing constantly go. Whether it's a political junkie, somebody who loves basketball, or just some video game nerd, this is where they end up. They have to sit under the surface of this pool of boiling shit and whenever they come up to breathe they can't help but talk about their favorite topic. As soon as one of them starts speaking, BAM, they get hit by one of the centaurs." We both sat and watched for quite some time. Each person was punished for their excessive interest in one topic and their desire to inflict it on everyone, even the beastly men who punished them for all eternity. People who talk about doing drugs all day instead of a real conversation or artists who only know how to talk about art. I was saddened to see a man crawl out of the pool and scream "WEEN RULES!", only to be tagged with a barbed arrow from one of the centaurs. "Hey, Ween really is the best band ever. Why did he get hit for that?" I asked. Faulkner gave me a stern look and I nodded. Perhaps, maybe, I don't know just possibly, there could even be such a thing as too much of my own favorite band. We headed down the hill and continued on.

False Artists

As we walked down the hill away from the pools of boiling shit, we came upon a creature that was half-man and half bull. "Oh good, I was scared we'd have to walk all over the damn floodplain to find one of these people," Faulkner said. We approached the minotaur, who was piling up stones and trying to make the ledge that it was attached to stand out from the rest of the flood plain. It wasn't working. "Oh hi! Don't you just love what I've done with these pebbles?" It said to Faulkner and I. "You mean the rocks you put into a pile around you? What difference does it make?" I asked. Faulkner snickered and we both took a swig from the flask while watching the minotaur grow sad and begin to rearrange the pile. "Basically, these are people who try really hard to stand out from others in life by buying all kinds of stupid crap like wacky clothing or coloring their hair. They get into mystical stuff and spirituality without really understanding a word of it. A lot of artists end up like this. If we had time I'd take you over to this one guy who looks like cousin It from the Adam's family. Fucking covered in dreads for all time, is all I have to say." The minotaur was still trying to make the pile into an interesting shape and I have to admit I felt kinda bad for the poor thing. "Listen, I'm sorry about what I said with the rocks and all. It's really a very nice pile...in Hell...where you're going to be forever. Oh fuck it, I hated people like you. We all want attention and everything...and I guess now that you're half bull, you'll finally get it." We departed without another word, despite the cries from the minotaur for us to see what it had done with the pile this time.

Flatulators

As we moved into the rockier regions of the floodplain, I began to finally believe that just maybe I wouldn't have to smell shit for the rest of my journey. I was wrong. We came upon a series of holes with feet sticking out and the most awful stench was coming out of each hole. I even had to hold my nose, but Faulkner just drank more and seemed unconcerned. "These are people who fart or burp in social situations and act like it's not a big deal. Technically, we all fart and burp, but these are the atomic bomb droppers. Then they'll act like nothing has happened or blame someone else when people complain. Now they get to have their head shoved up the ass of someone who has equally bad gas. Of course one of the asshole demons came by and dropped a spark down there, so now the whole thing is one giant methane vent as well. We think the guy's down at the bottom are probably burning at about 475 degrees Farenheit, but who knows. I'm not fucking going down there to find out." We got past the holes and I could finally breathe again. "Look, can we avoid anymore pools of shit or farting or anything like that?" I asked. Faulkner nodded and pointed down to a steep series of crags where there were lots of screams emanating. "Don't go queasy on me just yet. We haven't even gotten to the torture punishments. That whole section is run by demons and they're are all total pricks. We'll do a few more PG-13 punishments, but in order to get down into Uni-Mecca we'll have to pass through that really nasty part." I nodded and we continued on.

Stoners

We came across a giant hovering cloud of smoke. Before we were even inside of it, I knew the smell of marijuana being smoked. "Smells like someone is having a party around here," I muttered. Faulkner shook his head and pointed to a girl wandering around. She smelled like bad B.O. and her hair was sticking out. "Hey man, hows it goin?" she asked us. "We're fine. We don't want anything you have. I heard there was something important happening once you get as far away from us as possible," Faulkner said to her. He turned, realized I was inhaling the smoke as best as I could, and smacked me on the head. "I realize this might not occur to you, but there is a place in Hell for people who drown themselves in marijuana. All they do all day is talk about getting stoned, only keep their friends around to get more weed, and pretty much manage to not have a single real interaction with another human being because they are stoned all day. So, here in Hell, they get to be trapped in the fog of marijuana forever, never seeing one another or thinking or doing anything except being high. They just wander around from one place to the next looking for some place to sit." We were about to continue on, when we both realized the stoned girl was still in front of us. She hadn't moved yet and appeared to be struggling to remember which direction she had come from. We stepped around her. "This seems like a bizarre punishment. Shouldn't there be something worse going on?" I asked. Faulkner pointed to one of the rocks as we passed by. "You ever try sitting on jagged rocks? Everything here is incredibly unpleasant to sit on. Forever." I repressed a shudder at the the thought of spending eternity stoned and uncomfortable and we marched out of the cloud.

Pet Lovers

We finally left behind the floodplain of shit and came down into a valley near the lower portion of Bi-Mecca. Inside was a massive group of people who had surrounded a giant three-headed dog. They appeared to be arguing about how to keep the dog happy or at least how to get it to like them. After a few moments of deliberation the giant dog attacked one of the people and ate him. "This is where people who have obnoxious pets go. Since in life they relied on the emotional security of at least their bitchy dog liking them, they are now forced to spend eternity trying to get an awful demon dog to love them. Whenever one of them tries to pet one of the three-headed dogs, they get eaten alive. Then the dog shits them out and the process starts all over again." As we drew closer one of the Cerebri bounded over to us and watched to see what we would do. "I fucking hate dogs," I said. Faulkner agreed and we threw rocks at it. "In order to get by, you have to treat it like an animal with no feelings. In other words, like an animal rather than a person." We both scolded the dog for nipping at us and Faulkner smacked it on the nose for good measure. "So does this validate my opinion about dogs?" I asked. "Not really. Lots of people have beautiful relationships with their pets. But if a dog is an asshole, then it's an asshole. It needs to be disciplined like anything else." The valley continued on for a ways, and we had soon left the pet lovers behind as we followed its course.

Three Demons

An ear piercing scream rent the air and suddenly three people with bat wings flew overhead. These were demons, I realized, and I could hear their chatter as they passed us by. "So how come the demons are only allowed in a certain part of Hell?" I asked. Faulkner frowned, like he was trying to decide how best to answer the question. "Ok, you have to understand how work is divided up in Hell. There are three types of exempt souls: Limbo souls like me who just party most of the time except for the occasional lost soul tour, Limbo souls who do weird shit like the nameless kayaker, and then the half-humans. That would be mainly the centaurs, who were all British Dragoons back in the colonial period." Faulkner took me over to the shadow of a large boulder until the demons had passed by. "You mean like the warrior guys in Final Fantasy who can jump really high?" I asked. "No dumbass. A dragoon is a horse mounted soldier who operates a rifle, circa 1860's or so. What the fuck do they teach you in school anyways? When a soldier dies in combat, they are usually given a series of options between slapping draft dodgers around, going to purgatory, or taking up eternal duty in service to God. The Dragoons all opted for eternal duty. They all dug horses so much and since we all go to heaven once the Final Conflict ends, they opted to just punish people for a couple of millenia. Limbo is kinda like doing an internship for Heaven. Once it's over, you go on to Purgatory with a few cuts on your time there then off to Paradise." The demons were finally out of sight, landing noticeably in the neighboring valley. "So what does that make demons?" I asked. "They are gonna be here forever. They were with Satan in the original Fall and they are going to take over all the torture duties once we leave and Hell becomes the final place for all lost souls. Permenantly fucked, in other words. If you think it's shitty to be in Hell now, just wait until the chips settle and the final tallying occurs. The point is that a demon is somebody who has just as much power as I do, except they are completely fucked already and don't have to care what anyone says." The concern on Faulkner's normally calm face made me nervous about encountering these wild creatures.

Ignorant

The long valley finally began to curve back around and lead into the region I had seen the demons land. In this way it formed a U-shape of two separate valleys. "That, is the valley where the demons get cut loose on souls. It's extra worse and by its very nature a demon is a huge asshole." We paused and looked upon the last demon-free punishment at the cusp of the two valleys. I watched as thousands of souls laid out on the ground writhing in pain while fire rained down in the form of hot coals from the sky. Everytime a soul was hit they would writhe in pain and try to cover themselves, but there was nowhere to go and no one had any clothes on. "These are ignorant souls. People who decided that reading was for losers and that skipping class was better than learning. They mocked people solely because they were smarter than they were, repressed entire communities by insulting the developing educated elite, and generally were just obnoxious by speaking their ignorant opinions as if they were worth listening to." I found myself mostly apathetic to these souls, unable to really relate or understand what would motivate a person to despise someone smarter than them. Just when I was about to move on, I saw him. The person I had perhaps been waiting to see in Hell this entire journey: George Bush Jr. He was writhing on the ground because of the constant barrage of raining fire. I walked up and kneeled down to him. "Um, Mr.President sir, if you could, a few words about what you're doing here and everything," I asked. Even in death, I felt a mild duty to speak to the former leader of America with deference. "All those smarmy pricks who think they are better than me. Making fun of how I speak, my policies, acting like I'm some kind of dumb redneck. So I don't speak so good, so I don't give off an image of capability or competence, so what? I'm what America voted for, damnit!" And that was all he had to say. He turned his back on me and got hit right in the ass with a flaming coal. I guess I felt a twinge of pity, but mostly just annoyance. Here was the asshole who had instituted 'No Child Left Behind', a program that punishes teachers and creates an even stronger emphasis on test scores. The Voucher system. Who had destroyed education on every conceivable level. It was almost fitting that the bastard wasn't here for starting a senseless war, for promoting oil interests on an ever heating planet, he was just here for being ignorant and hating intelligent people. Like most of the things in Hell, I found that somehow it made sense. The Liberal Elite indeed. Faulkner and I began to make our way through the throngs to the far end of the valley.

Intellectual Elitests

We were making our way through the throngs of the ignorant while I was trying to explain to Faulkner how annoying it was that Conservative politicians had made such a big deal out of the intellectual liberal elite. As if somehow being well-educated was supposed to be wrong or some kind of insult. Faulkner nodded and drank heavily, like he always does, and then paused. "Shit, I almost forgot, those people are here too," he said. "What do you mean 'those people'? You mean intellectual elitests are here too?" I asked. He put a hand up and looked around for someone who didn't look like a complete moron. Unfortunately, when you're naked and having fire rained on you it's kinda hard to stand out. Faulkner began to call out the names of various philosophers and writers, until finally a few of the souls began to stir. Here, to my utter horror, was the Williams Street Crew. One of the writers grabbed my arm and began to scream, "No one here has even seen my shows! Don't you think Aqua Teen Hunger Force is funny? What about Sealab? C'mon, tell me you watch something besides Blue Collar Comedy and C.S.I!!!" I tried to look concerned and glanced at Faulkner who just shrugged apathetically. "I thought Sealab was pretty funny until Captain Murphy checked out. Now I can't really follow what the fuck is going on during an episode. The show about the talking cup is alright, but most of the time it's kinda annoying. Look, I quit watching when 'Tom Goes To The Mayor' came on. How fucking long did you think that whole late night gimmick would last anyways?" I thought about trying to be nice, but I didn't see any reason to lie to someone who was already in Hell for irony. He let out a wail and wandered off, hit in the face with a piece of flaming coal for his troubles. How unpleasantly appropriate, I thought, for the obnoxiously ignorant to be in a giant field with the obnoxiously elitest, all burning in a giant rain of fire together. I reminded myself to always take care to explain my jokes to people when they didn't get them and new dislike someone who was smarter than me. Unless, naturally, they were just ignorant pricks.

Slothful

We finally entered the other end of the U-valley, which turned out to be a series of trenches that were laid out horizontally for several miles. The first trench contained a horde of lost souls all scrambling up a hill that was in the middle. They were driven by a pack of angry demons, who were whipping the living shit out of everyone they possibly could. "We're now entering the section of sins that deserve the cruelest of torturers. Since these crimes were all committed to people who loved the person and endured all of the shit they put them through, all of these souls must now endure demons whose only pleasure in existence is making them miserable. These are the lazy fucks. Mooching off your stuff, guilt tripping their parents all day, and abusing their girlfriends who work hard to pay for their fat asses. Or boyfriends, whatever, I'm not here to be gender friendly. The point is, now that they are in Hell, no one is going to put up with their shit anymore. If someone would rather just sit down for a minute, they get a whip across the face. If someone finally gets up the hill and wants attention for doing something, they get a whip." I had been walking through Hell for hours now and not once had I felt happy at watching the suffering souls. That now changed. It wasn't a shock that the lazy people were right next to the ignorant since it was a very fine line that divided the two. These people weren't skipping class just because they didn't want to learn, they just couldn't be bothered to go at all. Or to work at their jobs or anything else. We moved around the outer rim of the trench so as to avoid the whipping demons and moved onto the next section.

Drunkards

In order to get into the next trench we had to walk over a giant stone archway which acted as a bridge between the two. As we came up to the top, I was considerably out of breath. Between the weed smoke and all the whiskey coming out of Faulkner's flask, I had become a little bit tipsy. Okay, I was nearly shitfaced. Faulkner, naturally, was unphased by the hike or whiskey. As as we reached the summit, I noticed flowing high in the sky millions of souls swirling about. "What's all this? I thought you said we were only going to be seeing souls that were tortured by demons. Y'know, because they had abused loved ones with their social actions. Who are these people?" Faulkner only stared down at the ground. "I didn't want to tell you about this spot until we reached it. Otherwise, you wouldn't have come here willingly. This is where people who drink too much go." My spine began to tingle and my eyes grew wide. I took a step back, then another, and made ready to bolt back down the arch. Faulkner grabbed my arm before I could run and I instead collapsed on the ground. I didn't want to look at the swirling souls above us. "It isn't easy for me either kid. We both have a place with those people. They swirl about in the air, staggering around in confusion with no sense or logic to their destination or emotions, just as a drunk would. They act out in sobreity for eternity what they did in their drunkenness while alive." It was some time before I quit shaking and turned to him. "The stoners were one thing. That had never been that big of a problem...but even looking at the place where alcoholics go...I don't know if I can just walk away. I should just jump right fucking in." Faulkner dragged me up and quickly looked around. "Careful! If the demons hear you there will be shit to pay. Remember, if they take notice of us they could potentially hurt you. And I know about the drinking thing, kid. I know more about it than you ever could. C'mon, we're all almost to the entrance to Uni-Mecca." He pulled me along, and we passed underneath the stormy drunks.

Demon Attack

We moved along the archway in silence, while I still trembled at the millions of screaming former drunks swirling around us. Faulkner had to hold my arm and keep shushing me as I muttered that I should just give it up now. Looking back, it's kind of embarassing to remember my behavior. I mean, could you give up drinking in today's society? Before we had even begun working on the downward slant, a couple of demons flew up from below. I guess they could smell the fear on me and the desire to just give up on redemption, because before I knew it Faulkner had thrust me behind him. They had pitchforks and were screaming all kinds of awful shit like, "No one cares about you asshole. Just give it up. You know you'll never stop loving Jim Beam." They made a few references to my mother's hobbies in Hell as well. Of course, their taunts just made me freak out even more. Some of them were circling us, some were hovering on the ledge with their pitchforks, and all seemed intent on dragging me to my death when Faulkner suddenly started yelling and pointing to the ground. All of the demons paused and looked down, then began screaming at each other. "Who the fuck was supposed to be watching the Pit of Lazy Shits? Now the intellectual elitests are running around explaining that we'll whip them either way. FUCK!!!" They began fighting and stabbing one another, no longer paying attention to me or Faulkner. We ran down the archway and down into the next trench. "Christ, that was close. This is the last one before Uni-Mecca," Faulkner explained as we walked parallell to the trench.

Judgmental

We looked along the trench, which Faulkner assured me would not be as bad as the Alcoholics, and I was greeted with the sight of mutilated people staggering around. Scattered throughout the souls were demons with giant swords and pitchforks, stabbing people in various places. "This is where judgmental people end up. The ones who categorize others by their weight, looks, breast size, whatever. The demons spot one of them and then slash them up in embarrassing places so that they feel awkward. Then they all walk around judging each other, thinking that somehow having a giant hole in your crotch isn't nearly as pathetic as having a giant hole in your chest. Since they based their lives on purely superficial standards, they get to live that way for eternity. Except instead of appearance it's based on which method of torture the demons inflict on you. I'm not even sure how the logic works, but you know, Hell and all that." We hurried on, not wanting to draw the attention of anymore demons. We walked for several hours along the rocky valley, with no more sign of trenches or sinners in sight. "Where are we going?" I asked. "To the middle of nowhere," Faulkner answered.

Uni-Mecca

After walking for several hours, we finally came upon a gigantic white slab. Faulkner gestured towards it and told me to open it. "Are you fucking serious? That thing is bigger than you and me put together. With a fucking pig thrown on. YOU lift it." But Faulkner only shook his head and pointed back to the cooler lid. He was being kind of mysterious, but after a few moments he realized I wasn't even going to pretend to make the attempt. "Ok, fine. You know how back at the judgmental pit we harvest the tears of people who judge excessive drinkers to mix with our gin? Well, we all would finish up by coming here and getting the ice out of Uni-Mecca. I mean, you want to talk about having a drink on the rocks, then this is your shit. Anyways, none of us are allowed to touch the lid entrance anymore because we accidentally harvested, um too much. That is, one time there was maybe a finger. And a nose. Well, fucking Shakespeare said he found a nose but that guy is such a drama whore that he's probably full of it. So now none of us can get in there unless it's a tour, trust me you can open the lid. I promise. Just fucking grab it." To my surprise, it was actually quite light. I tossed the lid aside and below was a stair case descending downwards. It was freezing, but Faulkner assured me the cold wouldn't be too adverse to one still living. So we headed down into the final levels of Hell...

Nearly Frozen

We went down the stairs while I asked Faulkner to explain Uni-Mecca. "Well, the uni part is a pun on one and unity. Everyone down on the lower level is guilty of one simple thing: betrayal. The outer rim is people who betray their co-workers. People who steal from the cash register generally don't end up here, it's more like people who are shitty to work with. Like an abusive boss or a co-worker who doesn't do his share of the work. These people didn't feel inclined to lift a finger to help anyone else, even when they were being paid to, so now they are frozen solid and unable to move themselves for all eternity. The Uni part comes from their complete and utter solitude in the frozen lake, the unity aspect comes from how they all get to be together in their worthless solitude." We set foot onto the lake and began to move out towards the far end. I recognized a few bosses from my old jobs: guys named Brent who had always played favorites or the bitchy hostess who gave the choicest tables to her friends. I would've spat on them, but what was the point? They were frozen solid in a state of utter worthlessness, spending all eternity deluding themselves into thinking this was all someone else's fault.

Emo Scene

We continued on into the frozen lake and I slowly began to have a sinking feeling as Faulkner explained who these people were. "These are the folks who betray their friends. Fucking their pal's girlfriend or boyfriend, stealing stuff from them, spreading rumors, that kind of thing. Or those fucking assholes who become friends with someone, then suddenly try to turn it into some kind of sexual thing. After I published my first novel a bunch of my female friends pulled that shit on me and it was awful." I wasn't really responding as he talked and Faulkner stopped right when we reached the middle of the lake. He pulled out an ice pick and bag and told me to wait while he hunted around for a free patch of ice. "No more fingers and all that," Faulkner explained. I was staring at a face directly in front of me, whose mouth was frozen shut but the other half of his head was still on the surface. Most of the heads were in that situation, the lies of friendship and community ceased forever from their mouths in the ice of betrayal in Uni-Mecca. I pried around his face until a chunk of ice came up and he could speak. "Thanks man. I haven't moved my mouth for decades. What do you want?" The head asked. I told him I wanted to know why he was here. "The most beautiful girl in my village needed a friend to talk to and I just happened to be there. We hung out together for hours, talking about everything, and of course I fell madly in love with her. And she knew it! She knew the whole time what she was doing. She took advantage of my good will and abused me so that she would have someone to talk to, have a friend who was just 'platonic'. She would always tell me I was the only person she could trust because we were such good friends. Well, I didn't want to be friends. I wanted to be lovers. And I told her, again and again. Even when she became cold and told me to stop speaking with her if I wasn't satisfied with mere friendship, I kept trying. When she did end up taking a lover, I spread lies about them throughout the village." As the head kept talking, I couldn't control myself any longer and I began to whimper. Then, just slightly, I started crying. "I know how you feel," I said simply. "I know what it's like to be treated like that. And it's not fair goddamnit. It's not fair to be taken advantage of like that." The head was silent now and staring at me with a look of annoyance that I was interrupting his whining. I had sunken down to my knees and was still crying when I felt a hand touch my shoulder. "Kirk...you're talking to a head buried in ice. In Hell. You don't have to relate to a single thing anyone here is saying. You don't have to be this person. You don't have to believe in any of this crap," Faulkner said to me, the bag of ice in the other hand. "No, I just...I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry, damnit. I'm sorry to everyone." I was blubbering now. I jammed the piece of ice back into the lake and covered up the head's mouth. Faulkner patted me on the shoulder and we sat there on the lake while I got myself together. When I was ready, I stood up, and Faulkner led me away from that place.

Satan

We walked on, but for some reason I just couldn't stop apologizing about every little thing I had ever done. To Faulkner, to people's heads when I stepped on them, to people I was never going to see again or even ones who didn't deserve an apology. "It's okay kid. You should've seen it when Dave Chapelle came through here. Muddy Waters was leading his tour and when they got to the stoners Dave just sat down on a rock and weeped. And weeped. And then weeped more. Like, Muddy came back up to Limbo to get a refill because it was taking so long. After about two months, he finally admitted that he was sorry and we got to continue on the journey. Anyways, that's Satan. He's big, depressing, and eternally trapped in a block of ice. You see those big flapping wings? Well, that's making the air freezing down here and solidifying all the ice. He's flapping to try and escape, but it's just making him all the more stuck. Like people in Hell, the whole thing is just a self-created prison. Everyone around him is someone who betrayed their family members in all kinds of horrible ways. Unless you feel some kind of urge to talk to one, I'd just as soon avoid this part. I was a bit of a prick to my daughters in life," Faulkner said. We plodded up a cliffside that led away from the Lake and soon began climbing another massive staircase leading back up. "So if this is the end of my tour, where are all the, y'know real sins? Like murderers or rapists? I was hoping to kick Osama Bin-Laden." Faulkner shrugged and looked annoyed when he realized that his flask was finally empty. "Yeah, I've been trying to figure out how to explain the whole morality and Hell being relative. Ok, how many times have you ever experienced murder in your life?" He asked me. "Well, never," I responded. "Exactly. You have no precept for either the emotional impact or moral consequences. Even if I showed you the boiling pits of war mongers, it wouldn't have any impact on you because you have no idea what a war monger really does to a person." I stopped and grabbed Faulkner by the arm. "So you mean there are pits for war mongers? And we skipped them? Or like a hole for terrorists and all that stuff?" I demanded angrily. Faulkner nodded and motioned for me to walk while I talked. "Hell is infinite, Kirk. Like I said way back at the beginning, this place wasn't invented for you. When someone absolves themselves of any blame or responsibility for their actions, when someone quits looking in the mirror and recognizing whats wrong with them, then they become infinitely bound to a cage that they themselves are creating by denying the existence of a problem. Hell is just the literal realization of that cage." And so we continued up the stairs, talking.

Sunset

We continued up the stairs as Faulkner continued to try and explain how Hell and forgiveness works. "Look, just stay humble and try to put yourself in other people's shoes. NO REALLY, like actually do it. You should be fine. And try to apologize for something at least once a week, maybe more." The stair case finally opened up and suddenly we were back in the woods. It was evening and I thought I could just make out a familiar ridge that would lead me back to my car. I stopped and looked at Faulkner. "So what about Purgatory? And Heaven? Do I get to see all of those?" I asked. He shook his head. "I'm afraid Paradise always puts me to sleep. You wouldn't understand anything that's going on anyways. Imagine being trapped in a Christmas Tree, except you're happy about it and having a great time, and that's kinda how Heaven works. And as far as Purgatory goes...well, lets face it. All of those sins we just looked at are pretty easy to solve. Most of the people who commit social annoyances just have to sit under a rock naked for a few years before we let them go up to Heaven. So, we can just skip it." I was sad that the tour was finally over, that I'd have to leave Faulkner behind, and we both turned to look out over the landscape. It was a gorgeous night, the kind where the moon lights things up so well that you can practically see as if it were day. Even if you were in the woods, things would make sense. I turned to ask Faulkner another question, but when I looked for him he was gone. On the ground was a silver flask that still reeked of whiskey. I picked it up with a smile and headed down the ridge back to my car.